The boy's father knelt down beside him. "Look, son," he said, draping his arm around his young son's shoulders and drawing him close. "Do you see the deer?"
The young boy narrowed his eyes and tried to look.
"It's hiding in the grass there. Near that tree."
The boy spotted a strange creature lying hidden in the grass, the spots along its back disguising it in the thick undergrowth. The boy smiled widely.
"I see it!" he announced, and his dad held him closer in pride.
"It's just a baby," he explained, "so it's mom must be nearby. For the first few weeks of it's life, the fawn hides in the grass from danger."
The young boy cocked his head a little and watched the fawn as he took in this new information. The creature was huddled and hiding in the grass, it's tiny sides moving quickly with its rapid heartbeat. It looked so helpless and weak.
His dad stood up on creaking knees. "Come, let's head back to the house now. Your mom should have dinner ready soon. Let's leave the deer alone."
He offered the boy his hand to lead him back to the house, and the boy took it as an afterthought, still thinking about the deer's helplessness.
"Daddy," he asked, "Why does the baby have to hide? Why doesn't it fight the danger?"
"Well," he answered, stifling a laugh at the thought, "babies are all very weak. They can't fight."
"But why not?"
His father gave a big sigh, thinking about the question carefully before answering. "When you're little, like a baby or even like you are, you're not as strong as adults like me."
"I'm strong!" The boy puffed out his chest, trying to look big.
"Yes, you are." His dad messed up his hair affectionately, making the boy shy away. "You're very strong. But the deer is more... delicate."
Delicate. It was a word the boy knew. He'd heard his mom use it to describe flowers and pretty pieces of coloured glass. It meant pretty to look at, but it breaks easily.
The way his father said it was the same way his mom said the word, like he really liked it. Wanted it.
"Are babies delicate too?" the boy asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.
"Yes," his father responded, and the boy's heart sank.
He tromped through the forest with his father in silence. Before long, he could see the corner of his house through the trees. His mother stood at the edge of the woods, her belly swollen with the 'delicate' thing.
The boy's father released his hand to meet his wife, hugging her gently and putting his hand on her belly. The boy watched from a distance, not wanting to come near. His father didn't even notice his son's pout.
His mother spotted him and greeted him warmly, opening her arms for a hug, but the boy walked right past her. He knew it hurt her when he didn't hug her back, but he didn't want to be close to that thing.
He always knew his father wanted something delicate, something not like his oldest son. Today just confirmed it.
That night, the boy dreamt sweet dreams of the little fawn in the woods getting torn apart by wolves.
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